A Sidekick for SpiderMan
by swimfast12
Summary: When Peter Parker's blood was donated to the dying teen Matt Dale, his life was turned upsidedown! MY Crossfire has no connection whatsoever to the Avengers villain. Bits of romance between Peter and MJ and my OCs, T for violence and language.
1. Prologue

-**I haven't read many, if any comic books on Spider-Man, but I've researched a lot for this story, read some books on it, and seen all the movies. If there's an error somewhere, I'm sorry. This doesn't have much of a timeline according to the comics, but I can tell you this much-Spider-Man still uses web-shooters so it's before "**Disassembled"**. He's married to Mary Jane Watson and they live in Forest Hills, Queens. That's about it. Enjoy!-**SF12

Disclaimer: Everybody but Nate Lowry and Matt Dale belongs to Stan Lee or Adam-Troy Castro.

No day at the _Daily Bugle_ is normal. So we can't begin this story with "It was a normal day at the _Bugle_." The only routine items in place on the day when this story begins are the "Spider-Man is a menace!" rants of J. Jonah Jameson, and the usual hectic atmosphere. So the only thing we can do is drop into the story with no introduction whatsoever.

Peter Parker was sitting at a desk in the small space reserved for freelancers, or freeloaders, as Jameson liked to call them, sipping coffee and wincing at the bitter taste. He was waiting for Betty Brant to alert him- "Mr. Jameson could see him now". Even though he was a few hundred yards away from Jonah's office, and the media-related noise was blaring in his ears, Peter could still hear Jonah's shouting loud and clear. Hoffman's brilliant idea of a story about how Spider-Man saved a family from a fire was not being received well.

"Hoffman, I pay for _good_ ideas! GOOD IDEAS! Celebrating the glory of a crook that tries to trick all of New York into thinking he's a hero-BAD IDEA! I REST EASY KNOWING ONE LOYAL NEW YORKER DOESN'T BELIEVE HIS SHAM! WHOEVER HE IS, HE'S GOT ME TO DEAL WITH! YOU KNOW WHAT I THINK OF SPIDER-MAN-" To your probable relief, Jonah's last remark is unprintable.

Peter smirked into his coffee, making an odd slurp noise, and earning an equally odd glance from Nate Lowry, a freelance journalist. He was saved from coming up with an excuse by Joe "Robbie" Robertson, editor of the _Bugle. _Robbie strode up to his desk, followed by a light brown-haired fellow of perhaps eighteen.

"Hey, Pete. Got an hour or so to spare?"

Surprised by the question, Peter responded, "I guess so, since Jonah's taking his sweet time. Why?"

Robbie smiled. "My companion here-" He indicated the teen with the curly brown hair-"-is Matthew-Christian Dale, the _Bugle_'s newest intern. He's interested in photography, and who better show him the ropes than you, our photographer extraordinaire!"

Again taken by surprise and needing to hide it, Peter replied bemusedly, "Matthew-Christian?"

The teen inclined his head in greeting. "Just call me Matt."

"Uh, sure." He couldn't disagree without arising suspicion, but Peter had no idea what to do. Sure, he was a decent photographer, not bad at all, but Robbie's "photographer extraordinaire" was Spider-Man posing in front of a self-timer.

Robbie left and Matt looked at Peter expectedly.

"Uh, why don't you sit down? We should get to know each other a little bit."

"Sure. I used to play track and gymnastics-too busy now, though. And obviously I'm interested in photography."

"Any other interests?" Peter was fighting a losing battle, and he knew it.

"Uh, yeah, I'm a great shot. Not really into hunting, but marksmanship-definitely. Tae-kwon-do-I'm the highest level in it."

Stalling as much as possible, Peter replied. "Well, as Robbie probably told you, I'm Peter Parker, freelance photographer, though I usually work for the _Bugle_. I live in Forest Hills with my wife, Mary Jane, and I love biochemistry."

Being friendly, but clearly wanting to move on, Matt said, "So, Peter, what's the life like around here?"

"Well…"

As if on cue, Jonah's tantrum restarted. "LOWRY! THAT ARTICLE'S LATE. YOU'RE FIRED!"

Matt winced. "That bad?"

"It's worse for Spider-Man. Jonah hates his guts."

"Really? What's Mr. Jameson got against Spidey? He's my idol."

Pleased by this piece of information, Peter nodded. "I'm well-known for knowing the secret to getting the impossible shot of him."

"How?" Matt seemed interested.

"If I told you that, it wouldn't be a secret, now would it?"

"Guess not." Matt shrugged.

This conversation couldn't go on forever- Peter resigned himself to his fate and started talking about photography…but broke off.

Something was here- his spider-sense could feel it. It shrieked warnings and Peter knew that this was bad. No small-time dangers awaited them.

He was right.

A man in green-yellow tights burst through the wall, energy crackling in his hands, less than half a second later.

Peter's spider-sense gave him a warning and he leaped upward to avoid being fried, pushing Matt behind a desk as he did so. The lightning hit Nate Lowry's computer instead, Nate himself frozen in fear, as he stopped his argument with J. Jonah Jameson.

Peter turned to Matt. "Stay behind this desk. I'm going to call the police."

The teen nodded. He didn't seem scared. Lucky him.

Peter wasn't scared for himself. He was scared for the others.

Max Dillon, also called Electro, strode across the room, effortlessly pushing aside a present security guard, who had been unlucky enough to have business with Jameson.

Max Dillon also had business with Jameson.

He zapped the door in to cinders, and walked through to Jonah's office.

Nate Lowry cowered in the corner while Dillon grinned evilly at Jonah.

"Tell the bugman that I need to see him. Broadcast through whatever articles you can that he killed-"

"You rang, Master Dillon?"

Electro whirled around. There stood a man in a red-and-blue bodysuit, complete with spider insignia. Spider-Man, of course.

"Well, if it ain't the particular bug I'm lookin' for." Dillon grinned.

Spider-Man had just enough time to shout exasperatedly "Its arachnid!" before jumping high into the air to avoid Dillon's bolt of energy.

"Just as I was about to bait the trap for you-you pay me a nice visit. I was planning to frame you for murder- but this is less complicated."

"How original! Its not like that's been tried ten thousand times or anything." Spidey said snidely, while he discreetly webbed _Bugle_ employees and swung them to the safety of the other room.

This had a gigantic effect on Dillon, who fumed with electricity. He shot it all at Spider-Man in a huge blast.

Spider-sense warned the web-slinger enough so that he leaned back, dodging the worst part of the shock.

It wasn't enough.

Spider-Man crumpled to the ground, momentarily stunned. Just as he started to get up, a yellow boot stomped on his chest and pushed back down.

Max Dillon stood above, leering with triumph. His eyes crackled with energy, matching his hands with power.

_So this is how it ends._ He'd never imagined it like this. Electro was a powerful foe, but he wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer.

In his mind, Peter could see his wife, Mary Jane, at their home in Forest Hills. Cleaning dishes. Or maybe paying bills. Unaware that this was her love's last day on Earth. _Who would break the news to her? _Robbie? Betty? Her media friend, Glory Grant, perhaps? That Spider-Man was dead. By then, they'd know it was Peter. One's dead, one's missing-two and two made four.

He looked into the main room, where his friends watched powerless. Robbie Robertson was hauling himself to his feet, but he wouldn't reach them in time. Not that he could've done much to Electro. Ben Urich stared at the scene as if it had to be a nightmare. Billy Walters, Betty Brant, Nate Lowry, Vreni Byrne…they all couldn't believe it.

His eyes searched the group, and found the face he was looking for.

James Jonah Jameson.

The man had tormented his life as Spider-Man on occasions too numerous to count. But, when he looked at Jonah now, he did not see the angry look of someone who hated him. But rather, a soft look of goodbye. His eyes met the opaque lenses of Spider-Man's, and he nodded slowly. An apology…and a message of gratitude. Spider-Man closed his eyes.

"Goodbye, Max."

"NO!" A voice rang out.

Spidey's eyes snapped open. Matt Dale stood next to him, his fists raised at Dillon.

"Are you interfering with the affairs of Electro, the Human Dynamo?"

Matt glared at the villain. "Yep."

Fury filled Dillon. "I don't have time for this crud." He raised his hand and shot a bolt of electricity at the teen.

Energy seared up Matt Dale's arm, shocking him all the way up to his left shoulder. He fell to the ground, motionless.

Spider-Man let out a formless scream as Matt fell. He had been powerless! And he was the hero!

He pulled his fist back and let fly at the sneering features of Max Dillon. A crack told him he had broken the man's nose, but he didn't stop. He swung his arm again and again until Robbie caught his arms and shoved him away from Dillon.

"He's dead all because of me!" The web-slinger sobbed openly. The young life, cut down so early…

"He's not dead, son."

"What?"

Robbie was feeling Matt's wrist. "There's a pulse. He's alive! But he needs to get to a hospital! Now!"

"Leave it to me."

The doctor, a young woman in sea-green scrubs, accepted Matt immediately. She ushered Spidey out, who proceeded to change his clothes in the closet, becoming Peter Parker.

When Peter returned to the waiting room, it was jam-packed full of anxious _Bugle_ employees. The chattered endlessly, but all on the same topic-was the kid going to be okay?

Peter kept his distance. If something happened to Matthew-Christian Dale, he would never forgive himself. It was his weakness that caused the near-death. He had accepted his fate too early…

"Excuse me." The doctor said. No one could hear her over the noise.

"Excuse me!" She said, raising her voice. Nothing.

"ATTENTION, IDIOTS!"

Everyone glanced her way.

"Matthew-Christian is quite close to death. We need blood of his type-lots of it! But we're short on it-he has a very rare type. If we can get at least two donors, we might have a chance…who here has O-negative blood?"

Exactly two people raised their hands. Peter Parker and J. Jonah Jameson.

After the blood donation, Peter went home. Ordinarily, he'd have stayed there for days. He'd done that for Aunt May. But…somehow he knew it wouldn't help. At home, there was always something. Mary Jane's presence.

She embraced as soon as he stepped inside the homey little house in Forest Hills, Queens.

"I saw it on the news. I thought you were doomed for sure."

"Matt Dale could've died. He might still…" He broke off.

When Mary Jane spoke, her every word was laced with regret. "How is he?"

"Bad. But there's a chance…"

She nodded vigorously. "A chance is all he needs. I gave you a chance a year ago, at Liz Allan's party, when you proposed to me-you ignored your life as Spider-Man to be with me. You gave that Dale kid a chance with your blood-he'll get better. Just you wait. Now go lie down-I'll make some dinner."

Peter smiled and lay down on his bed. MJ was right. His blood…

He sat bolt upright.

HIS BLOOD!

The radioactivity…the mutilated DNA…some of it had undoubtedly been transferred to Matt.

He could've created another superhuman. He could've given Matt superpowers. He could've ruined his life.

And Matt had no way out.

**-Like it**? **Most of the characters belong to the creators and-or Adam-Troy Castro. Sometimes I hate FFN-the asterisks don't work. Just place them in where needed. Tell me how I did in a review-**SF12


	2. Chapter 1: The Creation of Crossfire

-This fic is kinda hard to write, so updates might be scarce, okay? Anyway, here's the scoop:

**Crossfire is my character-I don't care if there's a guy in Avengers Comics with his name-he's mine. However, he's modeled after the second Ricochet in costume and personality. And they're both in college. Whatever**-SF12

Disclaimer: Matt Dale is the sole main character in this chapter who's mine. That's it.

The very next morning, Spider-Man was swinging through Flatiron region at 9:00.

"Now everybody freeze!" A thug commanded, holding his pistol to the cashier's head.

"Hand all of your money to Rex! If you don't…" He cocked the gun.

The cashier, a nervous-looking, bald man whose nametag identified him as Herb, nodded.

Spider-Man leaped into the building, disarming the two crooks and webbing them together. Then he was off-the whole process took less than sixty seconds

Ordinarily, Spidey would've stopped for a quip, but today was different.

Spidey swung past the _Bugle_ building, the Flatiron building, and several other establishments before landing with a thump atop the Chelsea Hospital.

Peter Parker rushed through the main doors, skidding to a halt before the receptionist's desk.

"What room is Matthew-Christian Dale in?"

"316, Shock Recovery Ward. But only family are allowed to-"

He was already gone.

The same doctor was there, keeping an eagle eye on her patients.

"I'm here to visit Matt Dale-if he's okay?"

Hearing the name, the doctor turned full attention toward him.

"He's okay, but…"

"What?" _Please don't say he's "exhibiting spider-powers"._

"His recovery…it's amazing. He healed perfectly…it's a medical marvel!"

He smiled. Matt was okay. That was a good sign.

Peter brushed past the doctor, into Room 316.

Matt Dale was half-sitting, half-lying on his hospital bed, watching the Eagles batter the Browns into a pulp. He grinned as Peter entered

"God, its good to see a familiar face. I've been here one night and I'm already sick of it!"

Peter laughed. "Then, you're alright, kid?"

"More than alright. Better. Better than I've felt in a long time. I can't explain it."

Peter at first thought that this was a good sign, but than the smile froze on his lips.

_Of course. How could I be so stupid? _When he'd awoken, after the painful night on which his spider-powers formed, he'd felt great. Better than ever.

The doctor entered at this moment.

"Why won't you let me out? I'm fine, I feel great. I want to go home." Matt bombarded her with proclamations of healthiness until she held a hand up for silence.

"But, you shouldn't be fine…"

Matt looked her square in the eye. "Dr. Long, don't you have worse cases to worry about?"

She held his gaze for a moment, and then nodded. "Consider yourself checked out, Mr. Dale."

Matt Dale whooped, running out of the room faster than imaginable. He yelled a "Later, Pete" over his shoulder, and then he was gone.

Yep, there was the evidence. Super-speed.

------------

He'd never felt so good!

Matt Dale's little Pontiac Sunfire worked its way through the traffic with ease; sliding into spots so quickly you'd hardly know it happened. Matt was a good driver, but he'd noticed that his instincts were on fire today. He always seemed to know just when he wouldn't get hit. Must just be a lucky day.

Ordinarily, he would've balked at the idea of driving home. He lived in Queens, and the hospital was in Manhattan. But, there was a subway pilot strike, so his parents had dropped off his car when they came to visit. Fortunately, he'd given them the spare key.

Odd… 

_A mental buzz seemed to go off in his head. A foresight…something tugging him towards something else…_

_A car was coming at them... It was out of control-it was careening towards his lane…_

Driving in New York was always dangerous. He knew that. So he didn't hesitate.

Matt stomped on the gas.

The Sunfire flew to the right, just missing an SUV, and headed right for a small construction ramp by the new Chelsea apartment buildings.

The car zoomed up the ramp, and landed behind the flow of traffic, safe.

Behind him, twenty cars smashed into one another, like dominoes.

Letting out a deep breath, Matt tried to contemplate how the heck he did that.

"Help! Lord Almighty, somebody help! I…can't move…the pain…my ankle…"

Matt rushed out from his car, searching for the voice.

Behind the line of crashed cars, an urgent alarm bell went off. An injured woman… 

He couldn't get to the woman- four cars lay in a lopsided heap, blocking his way.

Unless…

No, it was crazy. He'd never make it.

But he had to try.

Backing down a street, he sprinted like never before and leaped.

He was twenty feet in the air, and landed on his feet with a thump. He winced, preparing for the pain…

But it did not come. It was as if he had merely…hopped. Like magic.

Deciding to ponder that later, he rushed to help the woman.

She was pinned down by her coupe. She needed help. He could try to lift it, maybe.

To Matt's great surprise, he lifted the car like it weighed about sixty pounds, and tossed it away.

In pain, she still managed to gasp out, "How did you that?"

He grinned wryly. "I wish I knew."

At that moment the paramedics arrived. Seeing as he was of no further use, Matt got back on the road, and tried to figure out what was going on.

_Okay, I jumped two stories into the air and I avoided a wreck before anybody knew it was coming. What could be happening? What in the world? It was almost as if he had…_

He couldn't say it. He couldn't think it, it was so loony.

Superpowers.

_Oh, come on. What are the chances that I randomly got superpowers? Okay, so I've had an odd couple of days. What would give me powers? The shock? Or even the blood…_

Oh God. Blood transfusion.

Matt Dale wasn't a leading scientist, but even he knew this-blood contains DNA.

He flipped a U-turn, making a beeline back to the hospital.

------------

"Dr. Long!"

The good doctor looked up in surprise. "Mister Dale? I thought you left."

"I did."

"Are you feeling worse?" Matt could fell her gaze-she was searching for symptoms.

"No, I'm fine. I just wanted to know who those blood donors were. I want to thank them." He added that part at the last minute. Dr. Long was bright-he needed an excuse.

"Oh." She looked distracted by a piece of paperwork. "Check your file-to the left."

Matt thanked her and rifled through the files on the desk. Dabs, Dagwood…Dale!

He flipped through the information quickly and came to the blood donation forms.

He took a deep breath and looked at the first name.

J. Jonah Jameson.

_Well, he's out. He's made his opinion on Spidey very clear._

_But, wait. That would be genius-it would never be suspected that Jonah is the very person he criticizes. Yes!_

_Wait-duh!_

How could he be so dumb? Jameson was pushing sixty, and wasn't really in shape. Spider-Man was an athlete, and from what Matt could discern from the voice, he was fairly young.

He flipped to the next page.

Peter Parker.

"_I'm well-known for knowing the secret to getting the impossible shot of him."_

Of course.

"If I told you that, it wouldn't be a secret, now would it?" 

It all clicked.

Peter Parker was Spider-Man.

------------

Spider-Man swung through the city, on the lookout for any type of crime. Anything to get guilt off his mind.

It had been a week since he'd visited Matt Dale at the Chelsea Hospital, and he still felt odd.

He'd seen Matt a lot since then-they both worked at the _Bugle_, after all. And he was different-late often, and always seemed like he'd missed just one hour of sleep, making him half-tired, half-eager.

But if he knew he was a superhuman, he sure wasn't letting on to it.

Peter couldn't believe the extent of his guilt- but it was understandable.

_He hated creating another one like himself. Cursing another to the hero's fate, assuming Matt ever became one. Somebody grappling with life as one and life as another._

His spider-sense tingled briefly-_A car alarm went off two streets down._

Jumping to the building above five thugs attempting to hotwire a fancy Cadillac. He prepared to swing down there and stop them, but someone beat him to it.

A grappling hook attached to a nearby building and a man in a thick, hooded blue parka swung from it, landing next to the goons.

Two long-barreled guns appeared in the newcomer's hands, and he brought the barrels down on two of the punks' heads with a crack.

The burliest guy tried to hit him, but to Spidey's surprise, the stranger back-flipped away and fired one of his guns.

Spider-Man winced. Why wasn't he down there? Someone was probably dead by now!

But no…the man fell all right, but a tranquilizer dart was stuck in his back.

The stranger leaped high into the air and shot with both guns. _**Thik! Thik!**_ Two simultaneous perfect hits. The last two criminals were accounted for.

The person didn't even touch the ground; he drew a strange weapon and fired a grappling hook, swinging away.

Spider-Man followed. He knew, for sure, who that was.

The stranger was difficult to keep up with-he was quite fast and agile, swinging from rope to rope.

But Spider-Man had been doing this kind of thing for years, and he caught up eventually.

They both landed softly on a rooftop.

In a lightning-quick motion, the man in the parka spun around, pulling a revolver from his pocket, aiming it at Spider-Man.

He relaxed, however, when he saw who was following him. He lowered the gun, but Spider-Man noticed he did not put it away.

They stood there, not knowing what to say, for a few moments.

The man in the parka broke the silence. "Thank you for your gift, Peter."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play that game. You know who I am, and I know who you are." He threw back the hood, and Peter's suspicions were confirmed. It was indeed Matt Dale.

"You saved my life with your blood, and I've always wanted to be a hero-I call myself Crossfire. Now I am what I dreamed of. Thank you."

Peter's throat felt dry. "You're welcome."

"I was thinking, you know, we have the same powers. Every hero needs a partner…"

"No." The words were out of Peter's mouth before Matt finished speaking.

"Why not?"

Peter looked at him through the solemn, opaque lenses that hid his eyes. "Because no matter how powerful you are, if you die, you stay dead. Nothing can change that. And I don't need another death on my hands." With that, Peter cast a web-line and was gone.

------------

Two buildings away, every second of that exchange was being taped and photographed by a man.

You might not recognize this man on the street, unless he was wearing his armor.

This man was Norman Osborn and he hated Spider-Man.

This man was the Green Goblin.

When he and Electro had broken out of The Vault, only one thing had been on his mind:

Kill Peter Parker. Kill the man who called himself Spider-Man. Kill the man who had put him in jail.

And this young teen might be the key to success.

Osborn picked up a cellular phone and dialed a number.

"Smerdyakov? I have a job for you."

**-God, that took more thought then humanely possible. Please, R&R-**SF12


	3. Chapter 2: Second Thoughts

-**I'm updating quickly, because this story gives me so many ideas that I have to write them down quick or they'll overload. Hope you all like this chapter-**SF12

Second thoughts. Peter Parker hated them. They ate away at the most certain decision until the confidence had worn away.

He yawned. It had been a rather long night of crime fighting, but that wasn't the main reason he couldn't get to sleep last night.

He'd seen the shocked look on Matt Dale's face as his idol rebuffed him. He was finally the man who could be like Spider-Man in reality-and it had been thrown in his face.

Peter looked out the window, a light snow blanketing the surrounding properties of Forest Hills. He admired the late sunrise. A layer of ice covered the road, thick enough of New Yorkers to drive on, but thin enough to be dangerous. Somewhere in the winter of New York, Matt Dale was probably trudging along, wondering why he had been refused. Wondering if he was good enough.

_It's for his own good. All the_ _people who died because of my life as Spider-Man-Uncle Ben, Gwen Stacy, Ben Reilly, Jean DeWolff…so many others. It was best this way._

But…maybe I should've given him a chance-or at least told him why not. I created the life he lives in now…he deserves to an explanation.

He was startled out of his brooding by the harsh ringing of a telephone.

Mary Jane looked at the Caller ID-"It's the _Bugle_."

"Don't answer it, please." He had enough to deal with.

"Tiger, it might be important."

He looked at her. "Red, I work for JJJ. In his mind, everything he says is important."

She laughed. "I guess you're right."

The machine clicked on and Jonah's bark came over the speakers.

"PARKER! I have a job for you! I know you're there-" Robbie interrupted Jonah and the line went dead.

His momentary humorous mood evaporated soon after that exchange, though.

After a half hour, she could stand it no longer. "For God's sake, Peter, quit worrying about it. From what you've told me about this Dale kid, he's resilient. He'll be fine. Just keep your chin up, Tiger."

"I know, I know. But…I think if he asks again, I'll…" Peter paused.

The screeching of tires on ice sounded outside-someone was braving the frozen road.

A door slammed and Peter stepped outside. A small black Pontiac Sunfire was parked on their drive. Matt Dale was getting out.

Vaguely, Peter wondered why his spider-sense had not warned him. He hoped it was a sign that the boy wasn't a threat. Of course, it probably had to do with the DNA the two shared.

Matt waved. "Sorry to bother you, Peter. JJ ordered me to tell you to get down here. Oh, and you're fired, apparently."

Peter was flabbergasted. Matt was acting as if the events of yesterday night had not occurred at all.

He found his voice. "Don't worry about it. Jonah can't fire me, officially. I'm a freelancer- he can't do a thing, now can he?"

"I suppose. But I live in Ridgewood, so it was a short drive here. I figured Jameson might fire you, but you could always return. I'm easy to fire-he doesn't like paid internships."

Peter smiled. "That's JJ for you."

They were silent for a moment, and Peter thought about how eerily identical this scene was to the one last night.

"I'm sorry." He burst out.

Matt glanced at him quizzically. "For what?" he asked, but Peter could see in his eyes that the boy knew exactly what he was talking about.

"For what I said last night."

Matt waved a hand dismissively. "Doesn't matter. I can't say I wasn't…" He visibly struggled to find a word that described his emotions. "-Disappointed by your answer, but I can live with it."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's just that…I always wanted to make a difference in life. I didn't want to be the kind of person who rushes to the phone when there's trouble. I wanted to be the one who fought back when something was wrong, instead of simply trying to survive. But…despite failing dreams, life still rolls along, and I'll fall into it's pace."

Peter felt touched. Matt was giving up his dream, because Spider-Man thought it was best. It was that kind of respect that made the second thoughts bloom.

"And who is this?" MJ stood by the steps of their home.

"Oh, Matt, this is my beloved wife, Mary Jane "MJ" Watson-Parker. MJ, this is Matthew-Christian Dale."

"Matthew-Christian?" She asked bemusedly.

Matt exchanged looks with Peter, who was stifling a guffaw. "Your husband is of the same opinion, Ms. _Watson-Parker_."

She smiled. " Clever. And call me MJ, or even Mary Jane."

"Matt, would you like a cup of hot chocolate?" Peter questioned quickly.

"Sure. Thanks."

As MJ made three cups of cocoa, Matt said in an undertone, "Does she know?"

"Yes, I do." MJ said, her back still to them. "I may not have spider-sense like you two, but I do have ears."

To Peter's great surprise, that was the only mention of his life as Spider-Man that Matt brought up for the entire twenty minutes they talked. It was almost as if Matt was determined to ignore the aspect of his spider-powers. He acted like he was not, in truth, a superhuman. This was impressing.

"Thank you for the cocoa, MJ, Peter. I gotta run, though. JJ will want to know where I am, and how he can evoke my internship in any way."

As Matt started to leave, Peter grabbed his shoulder.

"Matt, where exactly do you live?"

"Central Ridgewood Apartment Complex. Why?"

He couldn't believe he was doing this. "I'll meet you there in a week. I hope you have some costume ideas."

Matt's face lit up. He didn't try to say anything-his eyes told all

He had given Matt his dream back.

They were both so distracted by their happiness that neither of them felt the subtle buzz of their extra sense-which would have led them to the man with the listening device, crouched in the attic.

----------------

A week later, Peter walked into Matt's apartment.

"Hey, Peter. I've got some great ideas. You see…"

For an hour, they looked over designs until Peter found one that they both liked. Coincidentally, it was the only one Matt had made so far.

"How many weapons do you plan to carry?" Peter asked

"Grappling hook gun aside? About four. A revolver, a semi-automatic pistol, and two dart guns."

"Where the heck do they sell tranquilizer darts?!"

"Military issue Dart-Fives from Germany. Bought them on the Web, predictably."

Peter sighed. "I REALLY have to have a talk with the maker of E-Bay. Anyway, there's just one problem with your costume."

"I know, I know, I need a mask. I'm working on it, okay?"

Peter cleared his throat embarrassedly. "Well, I, uh, had something that might do the trick."

He held out a deep-blue mask. Wordlessly, Matt took it from him.

"It's the mask I wore as Ricochet, when I was once accused of murder."

"I know." Matt said reverently. "I remember."

Peter waited.

Matt looked up, his eyes gleaming with triumph.

----------------

On that particular evening, Ben Urich was being knocked against an alley wall.

The top _Bugle_ journalist, a chain-smoking man with graying sandy hair, Urich had chased after news all over New York. But he was not a very healthy man, and he had an idea that his healthful status would get the better of him someday.

He was right.

He was no match for the muggers that were whacking him so hard, and digging through his pockets for money.

"Where's your money, dammit!" One shouted, leering at him with dull eyes.

"Coat." He gasped out as the others resumed his beating.

The leader leaned toward Ben's winter coat.

And then he dropped like a stone, a tranquilizer dart sticking in his back.

Another mugger swore, "What the hell…" and then slowly looked up.

Two figures were swinging toward the scene, one on webbing, and the other on a strange firearm.

Landing with a thump, one figure slammed his fist into a man's gut. It was Spider-Man, Ben realized with relief. He focused on the latter of the pair.

The other one shot a dart into an approaching thug. _He's the one who saved me._ Ben thought with a jolt.

Urich squinted, trying to get a good look at the guy.

He wore an all-concealing shiny blue mask, and a golden bullet insignia was emblazoned on the chest portion of his black bodysuit.

Ben could see why his symbol was a bullet- four guns were holstered in a small belt around his waist, and there was indentation for the drawn one.

A goon decided they could mug Urich easier if the two interferences were out cold. He pulled out his chosen weapon, a stainless steel baseball bat, and attempted to strike Spidey down.

Spidey merely webbed the bat and flung it towards the blue-masked one, who caught it easily and advanced towards the last guy.

The man was frantically fumbling for a gun when the newcomer struck.

Drop-kicking the criminal to the ground, the blue-masked one booted the gun into the air and let fly with the bat.

The two pieces of the pistol clattered to the ground, broken by one mighty swing.

The investigative portion of Ben Urich took over. "Who are you?"

"Ah, Benny, still alive, I see. This is Crossfire, my new sidekick."

Crossfire huffed. "I prefer the term 'partner', Spidey."

His voice was unfathomable; he could've been Ben's age, or he could've been a ten-year-old on stilts. His voice was masculine; that was all Urich could discern.

Spider-Man cast a webline and was off. Crossfire fired a grappling hook after him, disappearing into the obsidian night.

Ben hailed a cab towards the _Bugle_; he couldn't wait to see what JJ would say about this!

----------------

"AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

_Classic._ Ben Urich thought as he stepped out of Jameson's way.

"THERE ARE TWO OF THEM NOW? WHAT COULD BE WORSE? AFTER ALL I'VE DONE, SOME THUG JOINS HIM? AGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Urich deftly dodged Jameson's fist, which splintered the wood of his desk.

"Jonah, calm down!" Robbie Robertson threw himself in front of Jameson to prevent him from mauling over his chair.

"Look, it's a perfect business opportunity!" Urich said nervously.

JJ froze.

There was silence for precisely one point five seconds.

"Get Parker on this! If he can get shots of a crook in an insect costume, then he better be able to get pictures of Gunshot!" Jonah chomped down on his cigar.

"Crossfire, actually. And spiders are arachnids." Urich said.

"Shut up, I don't care! Urich, don't you have an article to write? Get out! And call Parker-I NEED PHOTOS!"

Urich left.

"We need headlines to go with Peter's photos."

"Taken care of: "New Criminal Joins Old, Terrorize All of New York"."

Urich popped his head inside the door. "They're not criminals! Spidey's a hero and Crossfire's his sidekick. _They're heroes!"_

"There's no such thing as sidekicks anymore, Urich-Don't you read the comics?"

**-Hate the ending, but it has to be here-my next chapter is short. R&R-I'm not posting unless I get more reviews-**SF12


	4. Chapter 4: Being Watched

-**I started this fic in like, September, and now its been -counts on fingers- 3 months since I last updated-roughly…dang…okay, but that'll all be corrected now that I'm out of school due to year-round planning-HAHA TRADITONAL SQUIRTS! No offense meant, of course. I just love being home, and free to laze around. Plus, it gives me ample time to work on this fic! Ch. 3-rolling-**SF12

New York was an odd state, and an even odder city. Frequent supervillain attacks, men with spider-powers beating said supervillians up…yeah, it's a strange place, all right.

So no one was surprised a man in black and gold tights swung form building to building via grapple-gun, followed by a figure dressed in red-and-blue, chasing a stolen Lexus, whose owner, a Latverian businessman on vacation, ran behind yelling obscenities.

Ah, the peace of New York.

"Get back here, you stupid Lexus!" Crossfire shouted swinging closer and closer to the speeding car.

Surprisingly, the Lexus did not respond.

"Alright, dude," said Crossfire, this time more logically addressing the carjacker, instead of the car. "You are starting to REALLY get on my nerves! Pull over!"

For his part, the carjacker actually did respond, in stark contrast to his exceptionally rude stolen luxury vehicle. But before you get too impressed with his politeness, let's see what his response was:

The man made a very rude hand gesture at the crime-fighting duo.

"That does it." Grumbling about "rude carjackers", Crossfire signaled to Spider-Man, and they put their simple, but very effective plan to work.

The carjacker was a Bronx hoodlum by the name of Jackson Douglas " Big JD" Rowling, short of mind and full of muscle. He wasn't even all that tall-the "Big" part was added due to his strength. Cars and fights were about the only things he was good at-he'd failed elementary school the first year EOG's were held-third grade. The Lexus was his rite of passage, his ticket into the Bronx King Cobras, a mid-level gang that had its eye on his engine and vehicular skills. Not that he understood the meaning of the word "vehicular".

Big JD was unprepared, however good he was behind the wheel of a car, for the wall of webbing that appeared right in front of him as he turned into another street. Letting out a girlish scream, he waited for the moment that when he would bounce against the web and hit a building on rebound.

Had he completed, or even started the fourth grade, he would have discovered that you don't bounce off webs.

You stick to them.

Bracing himself for a crash, Big JD prepared for his death by tucking his head into his arms-he'd seen it on TV once.

The crash never came, to his mystification.

Big JD opened his eyes, mumbling in wonder. " Is this heaven?"

A glob of webbing hitting his window answered his question.

At that moment, watching the heroes advance towards the Lexus, Big JD came up with a brilliant, complex plan that only a genius like him could've thought up:

Run.

Before he could put said plan into action, justice caught up with him. Crossfire landed gracefully next to the stolen car, aiming a revolver at Big JD. But before he could come up with a good quip, a very angry Latverian businessman, whose vacation was not going very well, caught up with them, screaming in an odd language that no one in the vicinity understood.

Crossfire grinned at poor Big JD. "I dunno what he's saying, but I don't think he's complimenting you." Spidey shot a web, pinning Big JD to his seat.  
With that he and Crossfire were off.

"Oh, crap!" yelled Crossfire, coming to an abrupt halt on a rooftop. He pointed at the digital clock on the side of the building. "I was supposed to meet Alyson ten minutes ago!"

Spider-Man sighed. "Go on."

Mock-saluting his partner, Crossfire swung away, heading for a little restaurant in Manhattan Village.

-----------

Matt Dale rushed into Charley's, a little establishment that was loved by those who attended, and was always homey and warm, even during the bitter cold winters of New York.

Matt scanned the room anxiously, only grunting slightly at the proprietor's "Hey, Matt". From a corner table, a girl in her late teens with platinum blonde hair, no older than Matt himself watched his progress, smiling slightly.

Locating the teen at the corner tale, Matt shrugged apologetically, sidling past an off-duty cop who was exhaustedly slumped over his own meal.

Matt sat down opposite the other teen. "Sorry I'm late, Alyson. Rough day at the _Bugle_-you have a job, you know how it is."

Alyson sighed. "Yeah, okay. Fine. Its just that…" She broke off. "Never mind."

Matt looked at her earnestly. "Its just that what?"

"Well, ever since you started working overtime at the _Bugle_, you're always late, or you're working all the time…its just getting a little old."

Matt shrugged again. "I'm sorry, Ally, but I do have to feed myself, you know. Speaking of which, which one's our waiter?"

Perhaps it was the use of that pet name, the one she really loved, that made Alyson drop the subject.

The dinner was actually rather long, but it seemed to last but a few minutes.

Matt stood up, kissing Alyson. Then, grinning, he said, "We'll have to do that more often."

"What, kissing, or dinner?"

"Both. Let me walk you back to your apartment."

As they walked by, arm in arm, a man who looked very much like a policeman sneered malevolently into his food. His nametag read PAULSEN, but if you were to call NYPD asking for Officer Paulsen, they'd tell you that he'd been missing for three days.

Two weeks later…

The house was the brightest on its street with Christmas lights hung everywhere possible, peace floating through the air around it. It sat in one of the few genuinely quiet suburban sections of New York City, a bright center of happiness among so many sad places in the world.

Smiling, Matt Dale stepped up to the front door and knocked loudly.

There came a cry of "He's here!" and the door swung open. A middle-aged couple stood in doorway, beaming at Matt. The man had hair the same shade of mixed blond-brown that Matt's was colored, although it was graying slightly, and the woman was pretty in a plain sort of way.

"Matt, it's been too long." Ashley Dale embraced her son, and began fussing immediately. "Why take extra hours at the _Bugle_-you're living okay. Just stay and learn at college-you could even save money on gas by selling that unsafe hunk of junk that you call a car! That…that Sun thing."

Before Matt could come up with a sizeable excuse, they were interrupted by another shout, this one of "Matt!"

A preteen boy with pleasant features and a wide smile raced down the stairs.

Matt's own grin went a few watts brighter. "Hey Jake!" He eyed the boy up and down for a moment. "Well, you're almost up to my shoulder. Growing up fast, aren't you?"

"I sure hope so. Merry Christmas!"

"In fact," Matt remarked slyly, "I think you'll be taller than Mom in a year or so."

"Oh, hush, you. I don't need reminders of that-It's bad enough with one son taller than me!" Ashley Dale said quickly.

Matt and Jake's father spoke at last. "Hey, he's taller than me-I don't mind."  
Matt mock-glared at his mother. "See, I'm glad he cares!" He burst into unrealistic tears.

"Very funny-just because you live away now doesn't mean I can't ground you, you know!"

"Yeah, yeah." Matt rolled his eyes and headed for the fridge.

"What are you getting now?" His mother called back exasperatedly.

"Eggnog-the non-alcoholic kind." he responded.

"And how do you know we bought eggnog?"

"You always buy eggnog."

"How do you know it's non-alcoholic?"  
"Because Jake loves eggnog, and you'd HAVE to get him some, or he'd like, explode." Matt joked, Jake laughing endlessly in the background.

Ashley Dale collapsed onto a couch, rubbing her temples. "You two wear me out."Matt winked at his little brother. "Its our job-our duty."

But he let it drop.

"So where's Alyson tonight?"

Matt shrugged. "Ah, well, I asked her, but she's visiting her parents up in Seattle, so…"

"And that Peter Parker person you keep mentioning. Your photographer friend? I told you to invite him, too."

"I did!" Matt said indignantly. "But he was busy, too. He and his wife were spending the Christmas Eve dinner with her sister."

The conversation grew and grew, branching out into other topics. Topics that mattered so little to the man hidden in the little-used closet, pointing a listening device at them. He barred his teeth whenever Peter Parker, or for that matter, Spider-Man, was mentioned.

------------

Norman Osborn glared at the man sitting across from his desk, high up in the Oscorp building, long in disrepair. The two hated each other, but there was a mutual goal in their sights. If they played their cards right, their revenge would oh so sweet.

They still hated each other.

No one knew exactly what Dmitri Smerdyakov looked like. He wasn't called the Chameleon for nothing. His plain, expressionless white mask hid his face…and more dangerously, his intentions. He held the honor of being the first super-villain to face Spider-Man…and the first one to lose.

His plan of revenge was simple-shoot Parker and his darling wife. Mary Jane Watson-Parker had beaten him up with a baseball bat, causing amnesia to seize his brain, and he forgot who Spider-Man truly was.

The Goblin had cleared that up for him before he took this job. Furious, the Chameleon was all for setting off into the night and pumping the Parkers full of shotgun shells. But the Goblin had warned him that he'd be bludgeoned to pieces if he tried-Parker belonged to the almighty Green Goblin, Norman Osborn. If he was lucky, Smerdyakov would get to witness and have a hand in the downfall of the web-slinger.

At first, he was outraged. Dmitri Smerdyakov was no one's underling, no one's servant. But, he was a coward when faced with the awesome power of the Goblin. He knew, if he killed Parker, the Goblin would be true to his word, and would destroy him. Osborn had destroyed so many-Gwen Stacy, for one, whose only crime had been loving a man who Osborn hated. The Chameleon's lip curled at the thought. He on the other hand, was, although he liked to pretend otherwise, a physical weakling. Spider-Man could dispatch him two seconds flat, were he not armed, perhaps. He was, deep below the egotistical surface, a coward in the face of the super-strong men. He would bide his time…he had an agenda of his own

Clearing his throat, the Chameleon looked up at Osborn. "I have the file…"

He got no further. "Yes, you imbecilic twit, you do, or you'd not be here."

Suppressing his rage into a silent wave of anger, the Chameleon tried again. "He is quite close to his immediate family. They are easy targets, and obvious ones. He seems to have a bond with his father, Martin Dale and his mother, Ashley, who seems ready to go to the end of the Earth to save him." Here the Chameleon paused, snorting, as if he found such dedication amusing. "But the part you'll love is the brother. He's twelve, and he idolizes his older brother. Wants to be just like him."

Absentmindedly snatching the file from Smerdyakov's hand, Osborn flipped through it until he found Jake's bio. "Oh, yes. Yes, this is quite good." He murmured, then stopped and cocked an eyebrow. "Jacob Richard _and_ Matthew-Christian?"

The Chameleon shrugged. "The mother must have a liking for double names."

"Apparently. Anyone else?"

"Well…there's the matter of the girl."

Osborn looked up abruptly. "Girl? What girl?"

"She appears to be his girlfriend. Her name is Alyson Minolta. They're very much in love." This time the Chameleon did not snort. He laughed, and laughed at the thought of those doomed lovers.

"What color is her hair?" Osborn demanded, a strange glint in his eyes.

"Hair? Blond, I think."

Oh yes, it was so delicious. Perfect-Dale and Parker would never see the similarities until… A chillingly cold smile accompanied the Goblin's chilling cold thought.

"Very good, Smerdyakov. Await my orders and lay low, I'm going to set up a plan."

Something snapped in the brain of Dmitri Smerdyakov. "I'm not your servant! I'm your partner, and I demand respect!"

Osborn reached out and pushed the Chameleon. Actually, it was more of a tap, but from Norman Osborn, it sent Smerdyakov sprawling.

Osborn spoke, in a voice as cold as his smile. "Do that again, and there will be hell to pay. I will make your _life_ a living hell. And then, as you beg for death, I'll grant it. Get out of my sight!"

He had plotting to do. He'd planned Parker's death for so long…it would finally happen and his revenge would be complete.

-**Well, I'm sure of it now. That was my best chapter so far! I hope you liked the humor at the beginning-its my favorite part. Review, and if I don't update I time, have a very merry Christmas…or Kwanzaa or Chanukah…you get the picture, Happy Holidays!-**SF12


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